Me Llamo Shawn
by Skysalla
Summary: The Chronicles of Shawn Spencer - Part 3. Shawn finds himself stranded in Mexico with no way of getting home. Rated M for language, Violence and situations
1. Chapter 1

This story is not meant to be racially degrading in any way. Nor is it intended to scare anyone about events that occur in Mexico. I have been to Mexico many times and I still love to go. Please just see this for the work of fiction it is and don't read anything political into it that isn't there.

I don't own Psych.

Thanks to Isis-sg1 for this brilliant idea, Sas420 for checking over the Spanish, Luna and Wiccat for medical assistance, Luna and Jenn for pushing me to finish and Jenn for making it look pretty grammatically. Basically everyone at Psychfic is to blame...thank for this story.

This story is part 3 of The Chronicles of Shawn Spencer, and picks up exactly where "Out on the Sea" ended. It most likely wont make a lot of sense unless you've read that one before.

And yes, this does talk about one of his jobs...albeit a brief mention.

--

(bad Spanish)

"It's like Beautiful girls...drinking beer…on the beach…with homicide…"

"High school Spanish comes back to haunt him."

"Aieee! I can't do this…you make a translation for me?"

-_Lights, Camera, Homicidio_

--

Part 1

Ensenada

**September 14****th**** 1995**

"Five dolla! Five Dolla!"

"Two dolla? Two Dolla?"

"No, I need blue. Tha blue one!"

"You have a longer one? No, Loooonger!"

The street corners of Ensenda were filled with broken English and haphazard Spanish as Americans and Mexicans attempted to barter for the sale of cheap goods. Several Mexican children ran through the streets attempting to sell chiclets to the passing tourist as the ever changing dance of haggling raged around him.

He was lucky that places were cruise ships made port were so American friendly. Even if the friendship was only directed towards the naïve tourist and his or her pocketbook.

Seeing he had been kicked off the ship with nothing but quite literally the clothes on his back, he decided to purchase a bag and a few necessities. Street vendors were always easier to haggle with than the shops.

Finding a vendor who wasn't selling jewelry or sunglasses was the hard part, but finally he came across a vendor with a wide selection of purses and a few bags.

The minute he touched one the vendor was on him.

"You like? Twenty dolla, special price for you."

And thus the tango began.

He immediately put the bag down.

"No, too much."

"Fifteen, today only."

He stopped, scratching his chin in "consideration"

"How bout three?"

The man feigned an expression of injury. "I have to make a living friend. You give me ten?"

"Hmm…five?" he picked the bag up again, turning it over in his hand.

"Friend, think of my children!"

The man hadn't any children, that much Shawn could tell without even a second glance. He may have a girlfriend or two, but there wasn't a chance this man was supporting any children he had sired.

"Seven, but that's all I have."

"Tha's all?"

He shrugged, putting the bag down and turning to go.

"Sorry, that's all I have with me." He only took three steps away before the man called out after him.

"Okay, Okay, Seven! You cause me go broke!"

Yeah yeah, he'd heard it all before. Quickly he paid the man and collecting his new bag before making his way to the next vendor, time to find some clothes.

By the time he had finished gathering all his supplies he was down to twenty seven dollars.

If he had had means of transportation it still would have taken him upwards of two and half hours just to reach the border. On foot, battling the thousands of other hopeful immigrants it would take even far, far longer.

He was going to need a job.

The Spanish he had picked up in high school was not adequate to negotiate the contracts of a job. Fortunately the shop he had stopped at was pretty close to the tourist area and his new "boss" spoke relatively decent English.

Together they had been able to butcher both the English and the Spanish language before coming to an agreement.

"You take rag. You wash floor."

"Yeah, okay."

"¡Yo no creo este!"

He took the soiled rag and dropped to his knees. Moving the rag methodically in circles; essentially spreading the dirt around.

Scooping up his bag from behind the counter he checked the contents, everything was miraculously still there. He stepped out of the front door of the taco shop and made his way across the street. Finding a place to sleep was going to be a problem. There wasn't much in the way of spare hotel rooms for him to rent.

He was on the way to the nearest junkyard; hopefully he would be able to find a spare car to spend the night in the skies looked like they were planning on raining tonight.

A small group of men came across the street and encircled him, jeering, a few of them smacking their fists into their hands.

"What's this?" The one he assumed was the ring leader goaded "White guy come down take our job? No man, we treat American like he treat Mexican. Como mierda."

One man on each side of him lurched forward and grabbed hold of his arms, forcing him off the street and into an alley.


	2. Chapter 2

Part 2

Yo No Hablo Espanol…

It was now that he understood why his mother never wanted him to come to Mexico. Or at least, why his mother never wanted him to leave the tourist friendly area. No one outside of those areas seemed to speak much English, and his Spanish, was less than satisfactory.

His "friends" seemed to have this idea that he was a rich American. Acting on this idea had resulted in him losing the twenty seven American dollars he had as well as the seven hundred Pesos he had obtained from scrubbing the floor till his fingers were numb.

He was tied in a corner wearing nothing but his undershirt and boxers-the guys had decided that they liked his clothes. His wrists were bound in front of him with a long segment of rope. His feet were bound in a similar matter.

Night had fallen and he could hear the group of guys eating dinner on the other side of the room. His stomach rumbled, he hadn't eaten a full meal since the afternoon before.

Tidbits of conversation drifted back to him, but they didn't have the kindness to speak English for him. He knew they were speaking about him, he certainly heard the word "Gringo" thrown in more than once.

"…rehén…véndalo…esclavo de sexo…mátelo...sálgalo aquí. "

The voices drifted together, only the few words popping out at him. His mind fumbled to obtain translations for the words, but nothing surfaced. Wasn't high school Spanish supposed to prepare you for use in the "real world"?

Well, this was pretty damn real.

"…la cerveza…"

He knew that word! That meant-beer.

That was exactly 0 helpful.

With a sigh he pulled at his wrists, the rough rope biting his skin with the small tug. He winced, it would be better not to do that again.

Eventually he fell into a fitful sleep.

"¡Despiertate!"

He blinked awake slowly, staring at the man standing over him, the ring leader if he recalled correctly.

"We take you with us Gringo, maybe you help us across border we let you go!"

The man decided to kick him in the ribs then, maybe as a show of power, maybe to keep him subdued. He didn't know. All he knew was that it hurt like hell.

It took him a minute to catch his breath again. But as soon as he did two of his captors came and grabbed him by the upper arms, lifting him to his feet. They half carried, half dragged him through the small hut and out to the back door.

They had a truck! Well, it was once a truck. It looked like it had been under the wheels of a monster truck half a dozen times. But the thing appeared to run. A third man came and scooped up his feet. Together they lifted him and tossed him none too gently into the back of the pickup truck. One of the men jumped up and using another length of rope secured his wrists and feet to hooks in the bed of the truck.

The man proceeded to gag him with a rag that reminded him all too much of his short lived job from the day before. The hairy man finished and grabbed Shawn's chin, forcing him to look at the other. He gave the man a glare that had previously been reserved for only his father.

The man laughed.

"¡Me gustan los ojos!"

"¿Sí?"

"¡El tiene el espíritu!"

His mind worked furiously to translate the little he caught as his hairy friend climbed out of the truck bed.

"¿Bueno para una prostituta?"

"¿Un hombre?"

"Sí, con la instrucción."

He didn't hear any more of the conversation as the three men climbed into the cab of the truck. He hadn't understood enough to make sense of their plans. "Eyes, spirit, man" and what he had a sinking feeling meant "instruction."

His stomach churned as the truck pulled away from the building and towards what he could only hope was the border.


	3. Chapter 3

Part 3

The end of the road

_Mental not to self-Learn Spanish._

He figured it would eventually help him figure out what the heck was going on.

The ride in the back of the truck had lasted several hours. The evidence of said ride would show up clearly in a rainbow of colors in approximately a day and last anywhere from ten to twenty five days. They had stopped somewhere by a creek, negotiations had occurred and he had been transferred to a van. It was then that he realized what was going on.

The van was predominately filled with women. A few young children were clinging to their mothers and sisters. The group looked expectantly at the door when it had opened, but returned to their various chatter and naps when they saw him.

A few people had laughed and muttered the word "gringo."

They made several more stops, picking up more people and cramming the van nearly past its capacity. Oddly enough he was the only one tethered in place and gagged. In fact, some of the woman seemed happy, if not squished.

He was one of three males in the entire vehicle; the other two were both under the age of twelve. The car stopped again and the entire vehicle fell silent.

He strained his ears to hear the conversation on the exterior of the vehicle, but even if he could understand it, the voices were muffled.

Footsteps crunched on gravel along the side of the van until the doors were pulled open again. Night had fallen sometime since the last stop.

The captors had called all of them out of the van; since he was tied down Shawn was the last to be unloaded. The group eventually gathered in a semi circle around their captors and two other strangers, one appeared to be wealthy. One glance told Shawn all he needed to know-he was American.

"Bueno." The man said as his eyes scanned the group. But when his eyes fell on Shawn his smile immediately dropped. "Traiga al gringo!"

Two of his captors had half carried Shawn after the man, into a small but relatively sturdy hut that was hidden amongst the foliage.

"su cartera"

Captor on the left dug in his pocket and produced a wallet, Shawn's wallet! White boss man motioned for them to put him in the chair before settling down to inspect his wallet.

"Shawn Spencer…what are you doing so far from home?"

Thank god, someone who spoke English! He tried to reply though the gag, but it was still firmly in place.

"You're eighteen huh?" The man began flipping through his wallet. "Awww, is this your cute little family?"

He pulled out a folded photograph and opened it up. It was the picture he had thrown against the wall months earlier. His mother had found it and snuck it into his wallet. Shawn steeled his face, trying to prevent the other man from obtaining further information from him without removing the gag.

"I hope no one is looking for you Shawn. It could be bad for my business, but worse for your life." The man caressed the handle of a knife that lay across his desk.

"Now you look like a smart boy Shawn, do you know what human trafficking is?"

Son of a-

"I run one of the most profitable trafficking businesses in Central America."

Shit.

"Welcome to the company."


	4. Chapter 4

Part 4

Job Details

His newest "friend" was pacing the room in front of him. Unknowingly taunting him by eating a taco.

"Here's what you're going to do Shawn."

The man stopped in front of him, the taco a mere foot away from his face.

"I have very few whites employed within my company, so I'm going to need to keep you. If you were anyone else I would have sold you off to the highest bidder-"

The man stepped back, sizing him up.

"-and the price would have been _good_."

The man took another bit of his taco. Shawn's stomach churned.

"So, I'm going to have you do some smuggling across the border. You have all the necessary paperwork to get back into America, all I'm asking is a few trips to a station I have up there and I wont kill you…or sell you."

_The man was going to have him drive? Was he an idiot?_

"However, in order to ensure you stick to the plan, I will have my friend Raphael keep a gun on you, at all times."

_So, not an idiot._

"It will be subtle, but if you even so much as hint to anyone else, you can kiss your life goodbye."

The taco disappeared into the man's mouth, remnants of guacamole clinging to his fingers.

"Any questions?"

He blinked, did the man really expect him to be able to answer without un-gagging him first?

"Good, I'll have Raphael take you to your room."

The man turned to the door and shouted something in Spanish that Shawn didn't even attempt to translate.

Minutes later a man he could only assume was Raphael came and dragged him to another hut. The hut, if it could be called that, was small with a dirt floor and large cracks in the walls. Raphael threw Shawn to the floor, still fully bound, with a laugh before leaving him to his own devices.

His stomach rumbled again. Somewhere nearby he heard a child crying; one of the young girls from the van no doubt. He had a hard time fighting back tears as he realized that he was going to be sneaking these same girls across the border. They may think they were going to America for a better life, but instead he would be taking them into slavery, into abuse, into prostitution.

--

The next morning he was awaken by a sharp jab in the shoulder and an angry voice.

"Gringo!"

He tried to mutter "five more minutes" but failed when his tongue encountered the gag still firmly in place. Only then did he remember his location and circumstances.

"Gringo!"

"Mmmghff." Apparently not all his vocal abilities were shot.

"Gringo up."

He felt his feet being untied before a rough hand grabbed his elbow and dragged him to his feet. Finally able to force his crusted eyes open he stared into the face of Raphael.

The man had one hand on the tie of Shawn's gag, his other hand holding Shawn's chin in place, forcing him to look at the unwashed face and the short beard crusted with remnants of a weeks worth of meals.

"You speak, I hit. Comprende?"

Shawn nodded, it seemed simple enough.

Raphael moved his other hand to untie the gag, his body moving uncomfortably close as he reached around to grasp the knot. Shawn could smell the strong scent of the filth the man had been living in. He was fairly certain that if Gus was in his position, than his nose would have exploded while Gus was busy puking, crying, running away and passing out, all at the same time.

He let out a sigh of relief as the tension around his face was loosened and finally removed completely.

Bringing his bound hands up to massage his jaw he made the mistake of uttering a single word.

"Ow."

This was followed very quickly by complete expulsion of his air as Raphael's fist swung to meet his gut. He stumbled back against the wall, sliding down the splinter filled wood as he rapidly attempted to regain his breath.

"You speak, I hit. Comprende?"

"Yeah, okay. Comprende."

Raphael took two large steps across the small hut and grabbed a fistful of Shawn's short hair, pulling his head painfully up.

"OW!"

He received a punch to the face for each spoken word.


	5. Chapter 5

Part 5

The Border

Raphael had spent the better part of four days "instructing" Shawn in the rules. If he did anything without permission, he received a swift punch, usually to his torso. Bruises on the face would cause concern at the border. As it was he had a pretty unsightly one from his first round of "training".

His sides and stomach were littered with matching bruises, some from his initial capture and others much more recently inflicted. He was also fairly certain that he cracked a rib…maybe two.

He was awoken early in the morning, as usual. Granted a short trip to relieve himself and then given a meager meal of what barely managed to call itself toast.

Today, instead of having some good one on one time with his "buddy" Raphael he was taken to visit the boss, a man whom he had come to learn was called Johnson.

"Do you know how to drive a stick shift Shawn?"

He nodded once. His father drove a stick, he had learned how from watching his dad when he was twelve…his dad didn't know that however.

"Good. Today you will be taking the first shipment up into the states. Raphael will go with you. I'm sure you remember the consequences if you mess up this delivery?"

He twitched, having a hard time biting back a response to that.

They gave him some grungy clothes, he wondered vaguely if it was more to hide the marring of bruises that were appearing or if it was to have him appear less conspicuous than if he had driven across the border in his boxers and undershirt…but he really wasn't complaining, he had been cold.

He was then deposited into the front seat of an old van. Deprived of the keys he could do nothing but watch as they loaded his "cargo" into the rear compartments where they would not be found. He realized as he watched them that more than half of them had been given a taste of the life in store for them during their short layover at "headquarters".

Shawn rubbed his face; wincing as he crossed the bruise poorly concealed by the week's worth of stubble that had cropped up. He wanted to go home. He'd only traded one tyrant for another.

_At least the tyrant at home doesn't have you beat._

_No, instead he locks you up for ridiculous reasons and tries to send you away for life on petty charges._

_But he is only one._

_It'd be better to have none._

Raphael climbed into the seat beside him, stirring him from his thoughts. The man showed him the gun before hiding it under his clothes.

"Drive Gringo."

He accepted the keys and stuck them in the ignition.

It took them two hours to reach the border and another forty minutes until the traffic brought them to the checkpoint. Pulling up to the booth he rolled down the window, the movements causing strain on his battered torso.

"Identification please."

He pulled out his license handing it through the window with Raphael's green card. The man accepted the two objects with a nod and turned into his booth. He tried to look straight ahead with boredom as the man tapped away at the computer, but couldn't help but turn when a low double beeping sound came from the computer.

Another border patrol member stepped over to inspect the computer and Shawn quickly snapped his head away, pretending to fiddle with the radio.

"You're gonna die Gringo." Raphael muttered under his breath, his concealed hand twitching the gun slightly.

"I didn't do anything." Shawn muttered back, knowing full well the man wasn't going to hit him for speaking at their current location. Having "fixed" the radio he leaned back into his seat and set his stare on the horizon.

He saw the officer step back to the window and he turned towards him, just enough that the colorful bruise marring his right cheek wouldn't be easily visible.

"Mr. Spencer, can you tell me what you were doing in Mexico?"

"My friend and I were visiting his sick Uncle."

"And how long have you been in the country?"

"About two days."

"Mmmhmm.." The man turned back to the booth and spoke in hushed tones with his co-worker. "Mr. Spencer, I'm going to need to ask you to get out of the vehicle."

He nodded nervously and turned off the car before reaching down and undoing his seat belt. It took Raphael until Shawn's hand was on the door to realize what was going down.

The man's hand whipped out and grabbed Shawn's shoulder. "No!"

"Sir, exit the vehicle, both of you. Now!"

"Señor, sale el vehículo. ¡Ahora!"

The two border patrol officers shouted in what would have been perfect unison had they been speaking the same language.

He heard Raphael growl something and next thing he knew, a gun fired.


	6. Chapter 6

Part 6

Saved?

The second the gun went off seemed to also be the same second that time speed up. But somehow Shawn managed to take it all in.

The bullet from Raphael's gun grazed Shawn's upper arm and went on to catch the first border patrol officer in the forehead. Shawn watched in horror as the man stumbled and fell backwards, dead.

It took half a second for the other officer to realize what had happened and Shawn found his face making quick friends with the steering wheel as the officer's hand at the back of his neck forced him down to meet it.

Out of the corner of his eye he watched as Raphael clamored out of the vehicle and fell to his knees. He was up quickly, waving his gun as he took off running.

The screaming of twenty voices rose to his ears as Angry Border Patrol Man put Shawn in handcuffs through the open window of the van. Three more gunshots rang out from what he could only assume was Raphael's direction before it suddenly fell silent.

Shawn was dragged out of the vehicle by several officers who obviously expected him to struggle more. They dragged him out roughly, the officers causing intense pain with each movement. He didn't have the energy to struggle.

The voices were still shouting, and Shawn realized now that he could save them.

"The back, the back! Open the back!"

He repeated the mantra until one of the officers pulled open the rear doors on the van, exposing the frightened cries of the people hidden there. The officer stood in shock for a minute before finally regaining enough control of himself to take action

"Jake, over here!"

Two officers disappeared into the rear of the van as Shawn was carted towards the nearest security van. He allowed a muffled cry of pain to escape his lips as the officer pushed him against the side of the van. He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the officer to open the van door and shove him inside.

It was only when he was finally loaded into the rear of a security van, hands secured to the seat between his legs, did time seem to return to normal. The security man shoved him in the back, the closing of the rear doors bringing complete darkness

He sat in the darkness, his head resting against the cool metal back of the van while he listened to the chaos outside. It took quite a while for things to calm down below the level of loud shouting and screaming. Once things finally calmed down someone got into the passenger's seat. He could feel their glare on the side of his face, but chose not to react to it. A few minutes after that he heard the driver's door of the immigration van open and close before the van pulled away from the border.

They drove for less than five minutes before the van stopped and Shawn was removed from the back of the van. They pushed him roughly across a fenced off yard and through the most menacing metal doors he'd ever seen. It felt as if he would never get to see the light of day again once these doors swallowed him up.

He was taken to an interrogation room and dropped, still handcuffed, into a chair. The officer left him alone again, locking him in the room. If it had been just a few degrees colder Shawn was pretty sure icicles would be hanging from the corner of the vent.

He was left in the cold by himself for well over thirty minutes. He stood and moved to the corner of the room, standing being far less painful to the bruises across his body than sitting in the small metal chair.

Finally a tall balding man entered the room, crossing to the table and dropping a file on the desk that reminded Shawn of "War and Peace".

"Mr. Spencer."

The man leaned against the wall opposite Shawn, beady eyes narrowed at him as he gestured for Shawn to sit back down.

"N-no th-thanks." He was barely able to stutter.

The man scowled and crossed to the table, opening the file to reveal the High School Graduation photo Shawn had taken the year previous, along side the mug shots he'd had done when his father arrested him.

"Let's chat Mr. Spencer."

He gestured to the folder, pulling out the mug shots.

"You miss this Mr. Spencer? Looking forward to going back to this?"

The man pulled out another sheet that was covered with small two inch pictures of every refugee that had been in the van.

"We've got you on sixteen counts of transporting illegal aliens, as well as sixteen counts of conspiracy."

The man slapped the packet with the refugee pictures on top down on the desk.

"Each one of those is punishable by ten years in Federal Prison."

Shawn gulped, his head doing the math before the other man could inform him of the number.

"That's three hundred and twenty years in prison son."

_Shit._

0o0o0

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	7. Chapter 7

Part 7

No way out

Shawn felt as if his brain was a derailed train as the ramifications of three hundred twenty years in prison raced through his mind. There was no getting out of this, he was in deep shit. He shivered as his last stint in jail flashed before his eyes.

_Grabbing hands, uncomfortable closeness…._

It had been stopped last time…barely. Who was to say it would get stopped next time? He closed his eyes, unable to stop the possibilities from decorating the back of his eyelids.

Shawn felt his knees buckle as he slouched against the wall.

_No way, no way…no way no way nowaynowaynowaynoway…_

"There's no parole on a stint like that kid."

The man smirked, his lips curling back over tobacco stained teeth as he flipped further into Shawn's file.

"Your Dad's a cop eh? Won't he be glad to hear his own damn son couldn't keep the law? Guess he can take care of criminals but not his own family. Bet your parents are divorced."

Shawn's gaze turned quickly into a glare, who was this guy to pass judgment on his family? The man seemed to notice the change in his demeanor.

"Oh, you're pretty attached to them then? Too bad, you won't be seeing your family again. Forget about seeing your parents, your friends."

_No, there had to be a way out of this. There HAD TO!_

"You wont be getting married kid, wont have a family…In fact, you can forget about ever getting laid again." The man snorted. "If in fact you ever have been."

His mind raced as a hundred different scenarios played through his mind. Frantically he searched for the one that would save him. The color had gone from his face. His whole body shook as he slowly slid further down the wall. He didn't have the strength to hold himself up. Why did he ever run away?

_Because Dad arrested you._

_This is all HIS fault._

"Your life as you know it." The man closed the folder and pushed it away from him.

"Is over."

Shawn heard himself let out a whimper that he was unable to classify as human before he slid down the wall to the floor. He had plans with his life! He and Gus had made promises to each other, plans for their lives! He continued to slide down the wall, finally landing with a slight thud on his already bruised tailbone.

This caused him to emit another nonhuman sound of agony before he brought his knees up to his chest and curled his arms around them, ducking his head down between his legs in despair. The movements unbearably jarred his damaged body and suddenly, he came to a realization.

There WAS a way out!

He pushed painfully off the wall, pulling himself into a kneeling position, the pain from the bruises across his legs causing him to wince.

"I-I- I d-didn't! I can _prove_ it!"

The man's smirk faded and his eyes narrowed again.

"Kid, we caught you red handed trying to drive that van across the border with a full load of people."

"I had no choice!"

"No? Just trying to earn a dime right? Don't give me some lame sob story, save that for your mum when you have to tell her why she can't hug her boy anymore."

"I'm not joking!"

He brought his handcuffed hands up to his head, pulling on his hair.

"I was kidnapped, they captured me, they dragged me there. They BEAT me!"

"Beat you what? At getting away?" The man laughed at him

Tears of anger and pain started to blur his vision, and he could do nothing but pull his hair harder.

"I can show you where they are! I know the base of operations!"

His mind raced for the man's name. But with all the running around it had already done, it refused to cooperate.

"I had no choice!"

"Alright kid, I've had enough of this."

The man crossed the room and grabbed Shawn's wrists, pulling him to his feet. Shawn couldn't help but cry out at the tug.

"Raphael had a gun on me! He said he would shoot me if I didn't drive, they wanted me to drive cause I had a state license."

"Yeah, a license with a flag on it." The man laughed, dragging Shawn towards the door.

_The APB!_

_Dad saved you from the Traffickers!_

_Dad's about to put you in jail-again._

"Please, I couldn't, they would have killed me, they beat me for days!"

The tears were running freely down his face now as he fought to no avail to pull away.

"Shut up kid, I don't wanna hear your whining."

But Shawn wouldn't stop. He explained all the way down the hall. He pleaded all the way down the stairs. And he begged right up until they threw him in a cell.

A cell he shared with Raphael.


	8. Chapter 8

Part 8

Damn…He Did it Again.

The phone was ringing.

Why was it whenever he got a single moment of peace and quiet the damn phone had to ring?

Leaving his half grilled fish over the coals he trudged into the house. Scooping the phone up and cradling it against his shoulder he grunted.

"Henry Spencer."

"Henry?"

"Chief?"

The man on the other end of the line hesitated, something was wrong.

"Do you need me to come in Chief?"

"Maybe you better."

If something serious was going on he wouldn't sound so quiet.

"Chief, what's going on?"

"We got a phone call…about your APB."

His APB. _His_ APB!

"Shawn."

The name came out as more of a growl than he had planned. What the hell had that kid gotten into now?

He didn't even register the Chief's response as he slammed the phone down. Scooping up his keys and jacket he barely remembered to turn the grill off on his way to the truck.

He jammed the keys into the ignition, seconds later screeching away down the street. His neighbor screamed something at him as he zoomed by. It didn't matter; the only thing that mattered was getting to the station and finding out what heinous crime Shawn had committed.

Henry's knuckles turned white from his death grip on the steering wheel as his emotions flirted between anger and worry. The last time the kid had been around he'd given him the slip, barely. His helmet was still in the truck, rolling with the turns, stops and accelerations of the truck on the floor of his passenger seat.

Every red light between his house and the station seemed to have a vendetta against him. He cursed and slammed the dash as the train tracks decided to join in this attack. With a glance down at the helmet again he tried to prepare himself for the upcoming information.

A hit on his APB could mean anything.

Someone could have spotted Shawn on a week old video surveillance in a drug store or the boy could be dead laying in a morgue somewhere. If Shawn was dead Henry would personally bring him back to life and kill him all over again. The boy didn't deserve the peace of eternal slumber he had explaining to do, crimes to answer to.

The train seemed to drag on for miles, but finally the safety bars stopped their obnoxious blinking and slowly restored themselves to their upright position. Henry was pretty sure he left tire marks behind him as he raced the last few blocks to the station.

Chief Harton was in his office when Henry stormed into the station. The man wasn't sitting behind his desk working on something, but pacing the length of the office. Henry stiffened, knowing instantly that something was up.

Clammy hands grasped the doorknob twisting it and pushing the door open gradually.

"Henry."

No formalities, the news must be bad. Henry stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jacket to keep them still.

"What's the news?"

"Henry, maybe you should sit-"

"Just tell me the damn news Dan! Where is my son?"

"Henry, Shawn…S-Shawn is being detained."

"Detained? He tried to leave the country?"

"No."

He exhaled a sigh of relief, that kid had gotten lost in a flea market, no way he would make it as a world traveler.

"He _did_ leave the country."

"What."

"He was stopped trying to cross the Mexican border back into the States."

"He's an American citizen."

"They stopped him because of the APB, it flagged his ID."

"So?"

"He was smuggling aliens."

Henry hadn't been aware that his fist had balled up in his pocket, but suddenly it was slamming down on Chief Harton's desk causing pencils to jump and roll. He reached out and grabbed the paperwork with the details on it and barged out of the station paying no mind to the innocent officers that stood in his path.

He threw the door to his truck open and started the engine before the door had fallen closed again. With a quick skim over the paperwork he tossed it onto the seat and peeled out of the parking lot.

He needed to get to the border before anything further happened. He needed to be there to yell at his son. But something in the back of his head told him he might not get to. Something that caused a single sentence from the paperwork to dance in front of his eyes, taunting him.

"_-resulting in three hundred twenty years in State Penitentiary"_


	9. Chapter 9

Part 9

Behind Bars

Shawn was un-cuffed and pushed into the cell so roughly he lost his balance and fell to his knees. He heard the menacing scrapping of metal on metal as the door was closed and locked behind him. Whirling around and back to his feet, he threw himself against the bars and tried to reach the guard. "PLEASE! Not with HIM!"

The man smirked at him before pocketing the keys and walking down the hall. Shawn spun around just as Raphael stood up from the bench across the cell. They both listened quietly until the guard closed the door down the hallway.

Shawn cringed at the menacing grin that spread across Raphael's face, his eyes drawn to the clenching of the other man's fist. His voice caught in his throat, as he attempted to talk his way out of this. But Shawn wasn't the one to break the silence.

"You DIE Gringo!"

The cruel broken English echoed within the small cell. Shawn swore he could almost feel the venomous words slicing into his body. Finally, he found his voice.

"Dude, look, I didn't I, I couldn't know I-I-I…" Shawn stammered, his voice weak, as the man started to advance towards Shawn. Slowly the two began to circle around the edges of the cell. He looked the larger man in the eyes, seeing the hate burning there.

All it took was one blink of his eyes and Raphael was on top of him, the sudden weight knocking the wind out of him as they collapsed on the ground. The man on top of him quickly moved to a position that allowed him to start punching and kicking Shawn at random.

Shawn lay still, knowing from his past "training" that it was the best way to react and end the beating as quickly as possible.

He was lifted up by his collar and pushed towards the wall. The left side of his face slammed against the one cement wall and was dragged downwards. The scrapping left a trail of blood behind.

As he collapsed on the floor he remembered; he wasn't in "training". And based on the muttering of words pouring from Raphael's mouth, he was about to die.

Raphael released him again, pulling his arm back for a punch when Shawn did the first thing that came to mind.

He fought back.

Having only been in fight one time, with Gus, when he was six, he felt like it wasn't as hard as kung fu movies made it out to be. He threw his fist into Raphael's face, stunning the man by his sudden audacity. Without wasting anytime he pulled the fist back and repeated the action, once, twice a third time until he heard a crack.

He froze, looking at the blood now spurting from Raphael's nose, some of it coating his knuckles. Raphael's hands flew first to his nose, then to Shawn's still extended right arm. He grabbed the fist with one hand and brought his other fist down on Shawn's lower arm, hard.

The resounding crack was much louder than the first had been.

He screamed and backpedaled away from Raphael, cradling his arm to his chest. He was concerned about the new, unnatural third bend below his elbow. Raphael advanced towards him, his hand clenched in a fist and ready for another punch. Now lacking means of fighting with his hands, he did the only other attack he knew. He brought his knee up between the other man's legs with all his might.

Raphael fell backwards and Shawn, lacking proper balance, fell backwards as well. He landed again on his tailbone and moaned, quickly rolling onto his back to ease the discomfort. Gingerly Shawn reached up to his face, feeling the warmth of blood as it ran down his cheek. It wasn't long before Raphael started stirring, and Shawn knew he should move before Raphael got up, but he was unable to do so.

The man towered over him, shouting in Spanish far too fast for Shawn to comprehend. His boot came down, first on Shawn's right arm, then again on his torso. Each stomp had renewed strength behind it and hurt more than the one before. With each stomp Shawn let out a scream, each louder than the last.

Once more he heard the unnatural sound of what could only be bones cracking. He screamed again, his voice starting to go hoarse. The boot didn't move from his chest, instead it pressed down. His vision started to blur and finally he fell into unconsciousness.


	10. Chapter 10

Part 10

Hurry Up

Normally, the only thing that could cause Henry Spencer to completely lose it was one Shawn Spencer and his antics. However today, Shawn seemed to be beat.

The new top thing that irritated Henry Spencer to no end was traffic. Not just any traffic, but traffic that prevented him from getting to his son in enough time to murder him before he got locked up for life.

Why the hell were there so many people trying to get to Mexico on a Wednesday afternoon anyways? Didn't they have lives? He would bet his pension that not a single one of them was going there to murder their idiotic eighteen year old son who had been caught smuggling aliens across the border.

"Damn it Shawn."

He slammed his fist on the dashboard. No, murder wasn't a good idea. At least, not a quick death.

Shawn needed to answer to his crimes. Not to the court system, he could probably fool them, but to his father. If there was one person that could read Shawn like an open book, it was him.

How could the kid be so stupid? Did he know anything about the law? He had only been learning about cops since he stopped drooling baby mush food out the corner of his mouth when he ate. Shawn should know better than anyone what was legal and what the punishment was for doing something illegal…

He almost rear ended the car in front of him as the realization came to him.

Shawn had been learning this kind of stuff since before he could walk. He knew better than anyone the way the legal system worked. He knew all the signs to look for. Had Henry been raising the perfect cop…or the perfect criminal?

Henry's knuckles were white against the dark steering wheel. He needed to find a better outlet for his anger. Maybe he would find a firing range on the way back…maybe he would take Shawn and use him as the target sheet.

Henry looked down at the file in the seat beside him, three hundred twenty years. No, not the perfect criminal.

If there was one thing that Henry knew to be more truthful than the fact his son was going to spend the rest of his life in jail, it was this:

He was going to kill his son.

Junior Officer Daniel Allen swiped his ID badge at the entrance. With a wave and a small smile he greeted the other officer waiting to clock out.

"What's going on Ryan?"

"Got us a couple of smugglers, they're in Detainment 2."

"You going to visit Mary?"

"Sure am."

"Have fun."

He watched as the other man swiped out and left the hallway. He flopped down in the guard's chair, scooping up the files on their detainees.

"18? Damn kid, don't you have something better to do with your life?"

He heard screaming from the other side of the door, one of their smugglers most likely. Notes on the file said the kid claimed to be innocent, he was probably screaming to be let out.

"We're not the ones that screwed up your life kid."

He tossed the file back onto the table and picked up his trusty Sudoku book. It was always a nice way to kill the uneventful hours he was stuck working guard duty. Finally, the screaming fell silent.

"Thank you. I can never do these puzzles with that kind of racket…"

He was just about to finish up a row of boxes when the noise returned; shouting, with intermittent screaming. Putting down the book Daniel stood, he had better check this out if nothing else then to get them to be quiet for a little while.

"Why can't you guys just realized you frickin' screwed up and now you're going to jail for a really _really_ long time?"

Scooping the keys off the hook on the wall he stuffed one in the lock. Damn, wrong one. Why did they make the keys look the same? It only took him two more tries to get the door open.

He heard one more worryingly loud scream against the backdrop of Spanish shouting before the screams stopped all together.

"Shit."

This was no mere screaming of innocence, something was up. He dashed down the short corridor and quickly turned the corner. What he saw stopped him in his tracks, keys falling to the ground with a clatter.

"¡dije que le mataria si estropeaste esto! "

The kid was on the ground, blood covering the entire side of his face. His eye looked like it was starting to swell and the angle of his arm suggested a nasty break.

"¡dije que le mataria si estropeaste esto! "

The shout was repeated from the Mexican currently stomping on the kid's ribs.

Fumbling for his keys again Daniel shoved the key in the lock, miraculously getting the right key his first try. He grabbed the back of Raphael's shirt and yanked him backwards off the kid. He took a moment to punch the man and toss him against the wall before stooping down to check on the kid.

He wasn't breathing.


	11. Chapter 11

AN: Reviews are love. Since I've been getting more of them lately, I update for you sooner. :) Everyone is happy.

--

Daniel whipped the radio from his belt, jamming the button down as it swung towards his mouth.

"Medical Emergency in Detention 2. I repeat, EMERGENCY IN DETENTION TWO!"

Bending over the unconscious teenager, he parted the man's lips.

"Don't you _dare_ die on me!"

Leaning over the still form he began CPR.

Raphael, stirred, throwing himself on Daniel before he could begin compressions. The Mexican began screaming again as his fists flew wildly, striking Daniel's body haphazardly. It took him a moment to react to the punches but he was up and throwing them back as quickly as they were coming.

The door burst open, a medical team rushing in. One of the nurses moved with a syringe to Daniel's attacker, jabbing the needle in Raphael's arm and depressing the plunger.

"That ought to keep him subdued."

"The kid's not breathing!"

"He's breathing, but it's too shallow...Tyler, something's wrong."

Daniel barely managed to drag himself to the bench as he watched the flurry of activity around the teenager.

"Respiratory failure, get me a mask!"

They placed a mask over his mouth, starting to pump oxygen into him with the small attached hand pump.

"It's not working, we're gonna need to get a breathing tube in!"

"Call an ambulance!"

Daniel gasped as they ripped open the kid's shirt.

"Holy crap."

There was not a patch of skin on the boy's torso that was the proper color. He was almost a giant bruise, covered with patches of varying colors and swelling. The nurse with the stethoscope had his hand frozen over his torso, seemingly afraid to touch him.

"L-lets get that tube in."

"Uh…Tyler.."

"Yes."

"We don't have a long enough tube."

"Where's the tube?"

"The kit wasn't stocked."

"Damn." The head nurse, Tyler, clenched his stethoscope in his fist.

"His pulse is getting sporadic."

"His lips are turning blue."

"What?"

"Look."

"H-he's suffocating?"

"He's getting air!"

Daniel looked up again, the three nurses utterly confused.

"What the Hell?"

Tyler took the stethoscope, gingerly placing it on the abused chest. He looked up at the other two, his brow wrinkling in confusion.

"There's fluid in his lungs."

"From WHAT?"

"I don't know, but we need to get it out or he's going to suffocate!"

The three instantly turned to the small case they had brought in with them, shuffling through it. They pulled out a length of tube, but even Daniel could tell it wasn't long enough to go down the kid's throat. With a fluid of movements they grabbed several different objects Daniel didn't even bother to classify and then turned around.

In Tyler's hands was a small blade. Slowly, he pressed it down into the kid's chest, blood quickly pouring down his side from the cut. They inserted something similar to the casing of a pen into the slit and attached the tube to the end of it. He sucked on the end of the tube, creating a suction that began to withdraw the contents of the kid's lung.

More blood.

"Internal bleeding is extensive…he must have punctured a lung."

"Look how concaved his ribs are."

The blood kept flowing out of the tube and into the small jar they had for collection. Daniel wondered if it was really coming from the kid's lung or if it was just from the bruising.

Movement out of the corner of Daniel's eye barely registered in time for him to stop Raphael from flinging himself onto the group in the middle of the room. He body slammed the other man in mid air, both of them collapsing in a heap on the ground.

Having stunned the other man he was able to maneuver around and handcuff him to the bars of the cell. His fist clenched; the desire to punch the man's lights out almost overpowering him. Raphael spat on him, growling something in Spanish.

"You think so?" he replied. "I beg to differ my friend."

Raphael's forehead creased; apparently he didn't expect a border patrol officer to speak Spanish.

"Yeah, that's right amigo, I can understand you."

He turned back to the group behind him, checking up on their status like he understood what was going on. The blood coming out of the tube in the boy's chest had slowed down drastically. Now it was only a steady dripping.

One of the nurses was still pumping oxygen with a mask held over his face.

"He's getting air now-"

"-leaking through that hole-"

"-think there's another one?"

He watched as Tyler moved the stethoscope around.

"I can't hear anything now, but that doesn't mean there isn't."

There was a shuffling in the hallway, and Daniel looked up to see two more men with a stretcher between them. They made their way in, laying the stretcher down on the floor next to the unconscious form.

"1…2….3….LIFT!"

Together the men lifted the body, the action jarring the tube still sticking in his side and causing more blood to appear at the top of the cut.

Daniel moved to the door, pulling it open and holding it there for them as they lifted the stretcher to move through. He caught Tyler's shoulder on his way out, stopping the man in his tracks.

"Do whatever you can to save him…"

Tyler nodded, but Daniel didn't let go.

"I-I think he's innocent."


	12. Chapter 12

Part 12

Mountains of Paperwork

Tyler nodded and moved to adjust the drain coming out of the unconscious kid's lung when they were all frozen in place by an agonizing scream.

The boy withered on the stretcher and the unsuspecting nurses ended up dropping him. His scream grew louder as he landed on his broken arm. His face scrunched up in pain as he grabbed at his bad arm, unable to pull it out from underneath him.

One of the nurses moved to straighten him and received a swift kick to the chest. He didn't know they were there to help him! Behind him Daniel heard Raphael's deep throated laugh. He was unable to hold it back this time. Walking over to Raphael, he punched the man in the face, finally knocking him unconscious.

"That felt good."

He whipped back around, watching as the nurses tried to secure their patient, but to no avail. The boy was flailing his good arm and kicking his legs, whimpering in pain as he did such. Tyler caught a fist in the eye and stumbled back.

"Give him some room."

Daniel caught the attention of one of the nurses in the hallway.

"Run back to the office and get his folder off the desk."

The nurse did such as the rest of them backed away. The boy, not realizing this, continued to lash out.

Raphael was trying to kill him!

Not only that, but he had help!

Shawn threw his fist up, grinning inwardly when he felt it impact the soft tissue of an eye socket. He tried to pull his right arm up, but it was trapped beneath his body. It didn't matter, he'd take them down without it.

His fist hit something hard, the jail bars? He whimpered louder, pulling the now bloody knuckles to his chest. His hand grazed something, something that didn't belong.

His eyes flashed open, snapping down to the spot on his chest where a small metal pen like object and a tube were inserted into a two inch cut.

His hand clenched around the tube. Raphael had stabbed him!

If he pulled it out would it do more damage than good? Tightening his grip, he moved to pull it out.

"Shawn."

Startled his hand jostled the tube. He heard himself moan with the pain moving the tube had caused.

_Best not to take that out just yet._

"Shawn."

_Raphael doesn't know my name...who was that?_

"Shawn."

The voice was calm, almost hushed. It was coming from behind him somewhere. He moved his hand away from the tube and stilled, his good eye searching for the source of the voice.

"It's okay Shawn, these guys are doctors. They want to help."

It was an officer. Not with the SBPD though, not his dad. But the officers here didn't believe him. They had locked him in with Raphael!

"Will you let the doctors do their work Shawn? You need to go to the hospital."

Doctors? Mom?!

No. His mom wasn't there either.

"We need to put you back on the stretcher Shawn."

A different voice, a doctor. The man smiled at him, his hands held out defensively. Shawn could see bruising starting to appear around the man's eye. He'd hit a doctor.

He tried to speak, but his voice would not cooperate, so he merely nodded.

Three of the doctors moved towards him at once, and Shawn couldn't help but cringe as they each grabbed a part of his body. He wanted to struggle, especially when they moved his body and freed his pinned arm.

Instead he resorted to screaming again.

Daniel followed the stretcher out to the ambulance, standing in the doorway to his office as the sirens turned on and the vehicle pulled away. Even though their patient had passed out again, the kid's pained screaming was still ringing in his ears as he went back into the office and collapsed behind the desk.

This was going to require a _lot_ of paperwork.

He would have to call his supervisor, see about getting the kid off the hook. No way was he guilty. It might take some effort to convince others of that, but he was pretty sure that once the Doctor's report came back there would be no doubting. The kid had been beat into submission.

He pulled the paperwork towards him, organizing the stack before getting started on the first sheet.

He hadn't gone more than three lines down the page when the door burst open.

His pen hovered over the paper as he turned to look into the face of an enraged middle aged man with thinning hair.

"Can I help you sir?"

"_Where_ is he?"

The man was practically growling as he stormed into the room, eyes scanning the entire area as if he was searching for clues.

"Who sir?"

"My son."

Daniel bit his lower lip, hoping against hope that the man standing in front of him was not Shawn Spencer's father.

"…And you are?"

"Henry Spencer."

_That figured._

Daniel shoveled the paperwork into the file in front of him before closing it and pushing it aside.

"Have a seat Mr. Spencer."

"Look, I don't have time for your ridiculous formalities. I want to know where the _hell_ my son is."

"Please, Mr. Spencer, I must insist."

The man scowled as he fell into the seat on the opposite side of the desk.

"Better?"

Daniel gulped; this was not going to be fun.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

He was being loaded into a van. He could tell it was a van because of the double doors he heard closing behind him. The van took off, a strange whine travelling with them. He tried to focus his vision. He was staring at the ceiling, a cold metal ceiling that could only belong to one van.

This must be Johnson's van!

He was strapped down. NO! He would _not_ be their slave!

He pulled on the straps, his right arm refused to cooperate with him. And it hurt like Hell.

"Shawn, calm down."

He looked up, a dark haired man with a stethoscope stood over him.

Why did human traffickers have need of a stethoscope? Was it to check the heart rate of their slaves before selling them into prostitution?

Well the guy didn't need a stethoscope to find out, Shawn could tell the guy his heart rate. Fast, very fast.

His throat felt like sandpaper as he tried to verbally retaliate. Something was covering his mouth. It wasn't a gag; it was plastic and blowing cold air against his lips.

He began struggling again, having determined the blowy lip thing wasn't going to come off on its own. Stethoscope man did not like this, not one bit. He draped the stethoscope around his neck and placed a hand on either of Shawn's shoulders, applying the slightest amount of pressure in a weak attempt to stop him.

_You aren't gonna stop me, I'm gonna get away!_

Another man near his feet drew a needle, flicking the tip free of air bubbles.

_Hell no!_

He managed to get a knee into the man's side, knocking him against the side of the van and smashing the vile. He almost caught stethoscope man with a head butt, but the guy released his shoulders and turned towards the front of the van.

"Call the officer, we're gonna need back up for this one."

"Alright, I'm sitting, now you plan on telling me where my son is?"

"Mr. Spencer…" Daniel's hand fell onto Shawn's folder. Maybe it would be easier to just show him?

"Look, I'm an officer of the law, I'm carrying a gun. And I may know the rules about using it, but I'm _very_ close to losing it and have no problems ignoring said rules if you don't tell me what I want to know."

Daniel pulled the file towards him, hoping the action would hide the trembling in his hands.

"Your son was just taken out…only a few minutes before you arrived. He and his cell mate had an…issue."

Daniel didn't think a human being's face could go from red to white quite as quickly as the face before him did.

"I…is S-Shawn.."

"Apparently the man he was brought in with was forcing Shawn against his will to smuggle people across the border."

"Shawn is the most stubborn pig headed person I know…No way could-"

"They beat him Mr. Spencer. Several times from what I could tell."

There it was, quick, like a band aid. Only, it still didn't help.

"W-Where is he?"

"He is on his way to the hospital."

The man in front of him lost another shade of color. Daniel started to say something more when the phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Daniel? This is Tyler...the kid is freaking out again, we're gonna need you to come down here and calm him down."

"I understand."

"No, I don't think you do. If you don't hurry, we might lose him. We need to operate, but we can't get near him."

"I'll be right there."

Mr. Spencer did not look happy and Daniel was pretty sure the new information was not going to help the situation at all.

"Mr. Spencer, if you'll come with me, I can take you to your son."

It had taken only a few minutes for the pathetic excuse for a border patrol officer to call in for a replacement before he finally made good on his promise to take Henry to Shawn. He rode with the officer in the border's version of a squad car. Normally Henry would make some remark about the nasty appearance of these cars and the awkward green stripe down the side, but today he had other things on his mind.

_It was his job to kill Shawn damn it. Not some random Mexican's!_

It took them less than five minutes to get to the hospital where a group of paramedics stood outside of an open ambulance. Clamoring out of the ugly patrol car Henry could hear the choked cries of his son from inside the metal box. He surged forward when suddenly the punk border patrol officer was at his side, hand on his arm.

"Mr. Spencer, your son seemed to respond to me earlier, I'm not sure you should…it might further agitate him."

"That kid has spent his entire life agitating me. It's about time for some reciprocation."

Pushing out of the officer's grasp Henry made his way towards the rear of the ambulance. The pained cries of his only son became clearer as he approached the base of the vehicle. Henry thought he could make out the muttering of "please don't hurt me" in Spanish, but he couldn't be certain. Grabbing the frame of the ambulance he pulled himself inside.

"Shawn Henry Spencer!"

Shawn's actions immediately stilled at his father's stern voice, although his whimpering did not. With the actions halted Henry was able to get a better look at his son.

"Damn it Shawn."

The kid reminded Henry of the last corpse he had seen beaten to death. A body they'd found too late, a young girl who died of internal bleeding. He fumbled to keep a grip on his calloused exterior, but the more he looked at the torment that had been plaguing his son, the less he was able.

Running a hand over his face Henry moved forward and grasped Shawn's left hand in his own. His voice automatically dropping to lower hushed tones as he held the boy's hand and stroked his hair.

"It's alright Shawn, I'm here…I'm here."


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Liquid of Life

He had been allowed to hold his kid's hand until the nurses were able to properly sedate him. Although Henry had fought to stay with his son, the minute the boy's limbs became heavy and his eyelids had sealed themselves shut, he had been forced from the small workspace in the back of the ambulance. He now stood several feet away, restrained by two border patrol officers.

He pulled free as the nurses finally extracted his boy from the rear of the vehicle and rushed him towards the double doors. They shouted a variety of things at each other, a language Henry had never bothered to learn, numbers and letters and crazy long words. He left that sort of thing to Claire.

One of the nurses moved away from Shawn's side, and Henry got another good glance at the boy. He was still, strapped to the stretcher with his right arm immobilized.

But all Henry could really see was the blood.

Red decorated the side of his son's face, oozing from the multitude of cuts and running down his cheeks. A drain extruding from Shawn's side forced the life liquid to exit his son's body while another bag hanging above the stretcher forced new red syrup back into the kid's bloodstream.

Henry rubbed his face with his hands as his son disappeared into the hospital. But there was still blood in his vision. He pulled his hands away from his face, holding them out in front of him. He must have got some of Shawn's blood on him during his short time in the ambulance.

He clenched his fists, the overwhelming desire to punch someone nearly overtaking him.

"Sir?"

If the officer had been any closer he would have quickly found himself knocked on his but. Breathing through his nostrils not unlike a bull Henry opened his eyes.

"What?"

"There's a waiting room inside. I can show you where it is. Also, there's a phone…in case you need to contact anyone else?"

Snatching up the phone before the second ring would dare penetrate the room Claire Spencer began the rapid fire conversation without a moments hesitation.

"Mom, I'm not going to mail you another copy of the recipe for Chicken Ole!"

"Claire?"

Claire bit her lip; she had anticipated her senile mother to be on the other end of the phone asking for the same recipe for only the ten thousandth time today.

"Claire?"

"Speaking."

"Claire, its Henry."

She should have recognized his voice, but something was off about it…something that threw her off.

"Henry…what's wrong?"

"I-it's-"

She knew even before he said it, her maternal instinct kicking in.

"Where is he?"

"We're down at the border, near Tecate."

"How bad is he?"

"He's hurt bad Claire. I don't know how bad."

"Henry, you should know better than to tell me my own son is hurt and not be able to give me any information!"

"Bruises, lots of bruises, broken arm, bleeding; he was b-bleeding."

"It wasn't the freaking motorcycle was it?"

"He was beat Claire."

She almost dropped the receiver, recovering it barely in time to keep Henry on the line long enough to get the address information for the hospital. She'd told that boy a million times never to go traversing around Mexico. It was dangerous down there. Why couldn't he listen to one thing he was ever told to do? She quickly packed a small bag, knowing from past experience with Shawn that if Henry thought it was bad, they would be gone for a while.

It would take her several hours to get to the border, she better get started now. It was late in the evening, maybe traffic wouldn't be so bad, she might be able to cut travel time down.

Shawn had been in surgery for what seemed like an eternity. Henry couldn't stand it. Normally he had the reassurance that his wife was behind those sterile white doors, either working on their son or overseeing the operation with the same acute observation skills that Shawn demonstrated.

Never before had he been so nervous for his kid. There was nobody back there who gave a shit about his son. Nobody he could trust to make sure the kid pulled through, to make sure the doctors and nurses didn't make some stupid mistake that would end up being the death of his son. He crunched the paper cup in his hand, smashing it down to a small ball. If he didn't get some news soon, he was going to go crazy.

He heard the obnoxious sound of squeaky shoes on the linoleum floor headed his direction, they were much too rapid to belong to a nurse or a doctor. The last nurse to come to tell him that his son was "still in surgery" had gotten a taste of the famous Spencer temper. They wouldn't be so quick to approach him next time.

"Henry?"

He looked up into the agitated eyes of his ex-wife.

"Any news?"

"He is still in surgery."

They remained like that, neither really knowing the best thing to do. The last time they had seen each other had been at the court when they'd finalized their divorce. The last time they had seen each other and not been yelling, well Henry wasn't sure he could remember that just now.

"They won't tell you anything?"

"No."

Claire sat down beside him, and Henry felt the tension in his shoulders increase ten fold. Yeah, he was going to need a massage. Shawn seemed to have that affect on him.

The two sat in silence, Claire occasionally sniffling as her medical mind provided her with a plethora of possibilities. Henry did not envy her that.

Henry on the other hand was on the brink between concern and anger. But he wasn't sure who to be angry with. He only knew that he was angrier then the time fiver year old Shawn had ruined an eighteen hour stakeout by having to pee. Once he figured out who he was angry with, they were certainly going to feel his wrath.

He heard hesitant squeaky shoes, looking up he almost growled. They did not belong to any medical staff, but to that punk border patrol officer. The man approached the duo cautiously, stopping a few feet in front of them.

"Mr. Spencer…Mrs. Spencer?"

Claire let the assumption slide, and Henry wasn't going to call the guy on it. No sense bringing up that kind of an argument right now. Maybe he could be angry with this guy? He looked like a good choice.

"I'm…I'm afraid I have some bad news."

"W-What is it?"

Claire unconsciously grasped Henry's hand, squeezing it in her own.

"I spoke with my superiors." He licked his lips, yeah, getting angry with this guy was looking more and more like a good choice. "They still want to prosecute."

Henry suddenly became painfully aware of Claire's fingernails as her gaze fell to him.

"Prosecute for _what_ Henry?"


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Get out of my head

Tyler stripped the latex gloves off his hands, throwing them into the waste basket in the corner. Never in his career as a nurse had he worked on a patient as injured as Shawn Spencer. Taking one half of the gurney he helped the other nurse move the kid to a nearby room and hook him up to the standard machines.

As soon as the kid was situated Tyler slouched back against the wall, rubbing his face. He'd been charged with telling the parents what the situation was with there son, but he'd heard from one of the interns that the father was a monster.

"Hey kid, why don't you just wake up…then I can tell you...and _you_ can tell your dad the details."

He moved to the bed, picking the chart up and flipping through it.

"Spencer…"

He mulled the name over, it even sounded intimidating. He didn't want to see the face the man who owned the name. He certainly didn't want to be the one delivering bad news to him.

"Mmmguhhh"

Tyler moved his hand down to his stomach. He really needed to stop skipping lunch before these long shifts.

"Mmgfh"

His stomach didn't rumble under his hand, his stomach wasn't doing the talking. The corner of his eye caught movement, movement on the bed that didn't belong. His patient was awake!

"Thank you!"

He almost grabbed the sides of the delirious face in front of him and would have if another moan of pain and the fluttering of eyelids.

"Okay kid, don't move. You punctured your lung, it's gonna hurt like hell if you move, or speak…I'll be right back."

Shawn was vaguely aware of someone speaking to him, at least, the thought they were speaking to him. There was definitely a faint buzzing like noise in the room and something that sounds strangely like a singing bear playing the banjo.

_Ah Damn_.

Someone had put him on drugs, lots of them. He lifted his right arm up to his head, it was heavy, way heavier than it should be. He dropped his arm back to his stomach, expelling air with an "oof" and a whimper as his two ton arm collided with his gut.

He could hear the strange noises of a Tiger doing the Macarena and a Zebra burping the Star Spangled Banner somewhere in the room as his one eyelid that would cooperate finally took stock of where he was.

The hospital was definitely a step up from prison, two steps up from a Mexican prison. He was finally free then, they must have realized he wasn't an idiot, he wouldn't be smuggling Mexicans across the border. I mean, they left him unguarded in a hospital room. He lifted his left arm, it wasn't heavy like the other arm but was pulled to an abrupt stop barely five inches off the bed. From his wrist a cold ring and a small metal chain hung, leaving him firmly attatched to the bed frame.

Apparently, he wasn't off the hook just yet.

"Daniel! Where did you take that scheming little brat that came in with our smuggler?"

Daniel froze in the doorway to the office, but only momentarily. Robert Gorsky may be his commanding officer, and he may frighten the shit out of him but Daniel had learned that pretending like it didn't bother him was normally the safest route.

"Daniel?"

The man was growling now, that was not a good sign. He knew that Robert had wanted to continue the Spencer kid's interrogation this afternoon.

"Where is our prisoner Daniel?"

"He was taken to the Emergency Room."

"On a little sight seeing tour is he?"

The other man slammed his coffee mug down on the desk with a little more force than Daniel had been expecting. The man stalked around the side of the desk, his hunt bringing him mere inches away from Daniel's nose.

"His cell mate nearly b-beat him to death sir."

He could feel the warm breath of his superior blowing across his face as the man grunted.

"That kid is a little liar and a scoundrel. We are going to put him away for this."

"With all due respect Sir…He didn't do it."

"What did you say?"

"The kid is innocent. I overheard his cell mate…Raphael screaming. The whole thing was Raphael's doing."

Officer Gorsky's eyes narrowed before the larger man turned and stormed back to his spilt cup of coffee. He picked it up and brought the scalding liquid to his lips.

"Get this…Raphael guy into interrogation."

Somehow, Tyler was still stuck with the short straw. Despite the fact his patient had stirred, there was no way the kid could fully wake up with the amount of drugs that were being pumped into his system. He flipped through the chart once more, memorizing the ailments that he was about to spew to the family. The ones he was going to attempt to spew anyways.

With a deep breath he pushed open the doors to the lobby, standing there and observing the only couple in the waiting room. They were fighting.

"Why the _hell_ didn't you tell me this Henry?"

"I didn't have the time, I was more concerned with the fact that our son might be dying, thought maybe you would care the only offspring you have is lying in a hospital bleeding because some idiot Mexican tried to beat him to death!"

"And whose fault is _that_ Henry?"

He watched as the man that moments ago he had been afraid to even think of was deflated.

"Don't you _dare_ try to blame this on me Claire."

His voice was so low that Tyler almost didn't hear him. He watched as the woman glared at her husband before turning on her heal and marching away, right towards Tyler.

He froze, the files in his hand drooping as he lost the ability to hold them properly. There had to be a way for him to escape, this was not the time for him to be bringing news of this nature.

"You!" She snapped her fingers, "Nurse!"

He couldn't move, her glare rooting him in place.

"I need to know what's going on with my Son, I want you to go back there, find a _real_ doctor and…" he followed her gaze down to the chart in his hands, the name "Shawn Spencer" clearly displayed at the top of the chart.

Within seconds she had snatched the chart from his hands and was busy reading over the long list of injuries. He watched as she stumbled back, the papers almost falling from her grasp as her jaw dropped.

"H-Henry?"

The woman who was so strong a few minutes ago was now trembling as her suddenly weak voice called out for her husband. He rushed to her side, grabbing her and holding her up.

"How bad is it Claire?"

"Bad."

There was an owl trying to get a worm out of his ear. At least, it sounded like there was an owl…and it was awfully close to his ear. He had been able to locate the IV drip and had pulled it out over twenty minutes ago.

Apart from the owl he seemed to be regaining the ability to think straight. There was a plastic fork on the tray beside his bed. Reaching out with his heavy arm, which he had discovered was actually in a cast he managed to get hold of it.

If there was one really good thing that had come from being the son of a cop, it was that he had had plenty of practice with handcuffs. Breaking off a couple of the spikes he picked the lock in seconds.

"Come on hoot-y. You can't stay here."

He didn't really know if the owl heard his slurs, but it didn't matter, he had to get out of here. Had to get out before Raphael found him again.

Stumbling towards the door he made his way out off the hospital, out into freedom.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Don't Panic

He had been walking for what seemed like miles. His thumb held weakly out from his side as he staggered along the side of the highway. He really needed a ride soon or else he was likely going to pass out.

He couldn't pass out, passing out would take him back to the hospital and then back to jail. If there was one place he was never going to go to, jail was it. He would do anything at this point to stay away from jail. Even if it meant he was reduced to pained stumbling alongside of a highway, barefoot, in a set of stolen scrubs.

He heard a car slowing down behind him, it was about time. Plastering a weak smile on his face he turned to meet his savior.

"Spencer?"

The driver called out through the open window as he pulled his navy blue truck to a stop next to Shawn. In the passenger's seat was a very drunk girl who looked on the brink of either blowing chunks or passing out. Beyond her was a broad shouldered teen Shawn recognized from his High School.

"Todd?"

"Spencer what the hell are you doing out here, and what are you wearing?"

"Oh you know, scrubs are the latest fashion when you visit your mom in a hospital."

He tried to keep the pain that resulted from moving off his face as he climbed into the back seat of the truck.

"Aw, I'm sorry man, is she okay?"

"She's a Doctor Todd."

"Oh, right."

Todd pulled away from the side of the road as Shawn attempted to figure out how to cram his legs into the five inches of space allowed between the seats without causing further pain to his torso.

"What happened to you man? You look like you were run over by a truck."

"It was nothing." Maybe if he closed his eyes he wouldn't have to talk to Todd about it.

"Where can I take you to?"

"You heading back up to Santa Barbara?"

"Naw, I'm going about half way and then heading inland."

"Just take me as far north as you can."

"You got it dude."

Todd smacked the radio, raising the volume way past a comfortable sleeping level, but Shawn needed to sleep. He finally found a position that didn't cause too much pain on his damaged torso and closing his eyes he eventually drifted off to sleep.

"-Spencer! No, I'm not joking!" There was a laugh as Shawn stirred from his sleep. "Standing on the side of the road, in a pair of scrubs!" Todd laughed again, "Yeah, I'll see you on Monday and then we can work on it alright? Kay, Bye."

Evidently during his sleep Shawn had slumped down further into the seat. Before he could stop himself he moaned from the pain flaring up in his chest.

"Hey Shawn! Welcome back to the land of living!"

"How long I been out?"

Breathing was difficult for some reason, he knew he had cracked a rib or something, but the pain in his chest suggested otherwise. The drugs had officially worn off, as his body screamed in pain at every little motion he made.

"A few hours, I'm gonna have to drop you off soon."

"Alright."

His brain suddenly realized Todd had been talking about him on the phone. Momentary panic welled up in his chest, exploding against his ribs. The pain caused his vision to temporarily go white. Stuttering against the pain he managed to half moan.

"W-who was on t-the phone?"

"Oh, just now? Burton. He and I are lab partners at school."

It took a moment for the panic constricting Shawn's chest to subside; the bile in the back of his throat going with it.

"You alright dude? You look like you're gonna be sick."

The car pulled to a stop just before the freeway junction.

"Naw, I'm f-fine."

"We're here…you sure?"

"Yeah." He clamored out of the car, trying to maintain an air of confidence. "Thanks for the ride."

"No prob dude!"

Shawn had flown the coup. Again.

Henry had gone straight back to wanting to kill his son. He stood in the hospital room overlooking an empty bed. Apparently Shawn had picked the handcuff lock with a fork, he had to give the kid kudos for that.

Maybe Henry would dish out the kudos right before he began throttling the kid to death. Of course, he also had to give Shawn a good long lecture for leaving Henry standing in a hospital, on the border, with Claire for the last couple of hours.

Claire was currently clinging to his side, her face buried in his neck as she persisted in weeping. Henry kept one hand running up and down the length of her back rhythmically in a meager effort to calm her down. Having a doctor's mentality meant she automatically assumed the worst in any injury relating to their son. Even if it was a minor paper cut she would be concerned about the possibility of gangrene and go ballistic with Neosporin, band aids and finger splints.

Henry once made the mistake of asking her what the chance of actually getting gangrene from a paper cut was. Apparently it was less then .004 but there WAS in fact that possibility.

He had since learned to merely comfort her, and let her know Shawn wasn't going to die from every little injury.

It didn't help that the kid was accident prone. That only made his job harder. In Claire's mind Shawn was probably already dead. They stood in the doorway like that for a long time, Claire crying, Henry seething, until the sound of someone clearing their throat caused Henry to turn as far as he could with minimal disturbance to Claire.

"Mr. Spencer?"

"Officer."

"I have some news about your son."

Claire's breathing against his neck hitched and came to a stop.

"Wh-what about him?"

"We…we interrogated our other prisoner, the one who was brought in with-" the man looked down at the paperwork in his hands. "With Shawn, and have decided to clear your son of all charges against him."

Claire released the breath she had been holding in, but made no move to thank the officer.

"We discovered they had actually threatened him in order to get him to comply with their wishes…I was hoping I might be able to speak with him about locating the headquarters for this operation. Our other witness was less than forthcoming about that…"

"He seems to have gone AWOL Officer-"

"Daniel, Daniel Allen…" The man started to move into the room when the realization of what Henry just said crosses his face. "AWOL? How could he, he was-"

Claire seemed not to be through sobbing as the officer's incomplete questions turned her imagination back on. Henry's next statement was interrupted by his pager, something from the station. He tried to release Claire, but she would not allow it.

"I need to call them back Claire." He watched as Daniel slipped away as he and Claire shuffled to the nearest payphone.

Shawn had walked for about an hour before giving in to his hunger and stopping at the closest fast food restaurant. The food had helped him restore some of his energy, but not nearly enough.

He was back to staggering along the side of the road, had been for forty minutes or so. His left arm was held halfheartedly out at his side, thumb protruding up into the air. His right arm, stuck in a bend from the cast at his elbow clutched his torso as he walked.

An offensive rock jutting up from the ground beneath him caught Shawn's bare foot and caused him to stumble. He landed hard on his knees, his hands barely catching the ground before his face could.

He hissed in pain, trying desperately to regain control of his breathing. Behind him he could hear a car slowing down.

_It's about time._

The car stopped beside him and he heard a door pop open as he clamored to his feet. The car reminded him of his mother's, it was a very popular brand and he had already seen about twelve dozen of them today. He dragged himself to the car, lowering himself in slowly.

His bottom had barely touched the seat when the driver started the engine up again.

"Thanks for the lift dude, I'm heading up to-"

"Santa Barbara. I know."

It was then that Shawn realized why the driver was wearing a hat pulled down over his face, why he started driving the second his butt had hit the seat cushion.

"Dad."


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Caught in the Storm

Henry pressed his foot harder on the gas, the small sedan picking up speed as fast as it could manage. He didn't want to risk the chance of Shawn leaping from the moving vehicle. Had he been going any slower, he wouldn't put it past the kid to try it.

"Are you going to stay in the car? Or am I going to have to convince you?"

He reached to his belt, pulling his handcuffs free and holding them over Shawn's exposed left arm. Shawn recoiled his hand, pulling it against his chest. A small grimace crossed his face with the impact of his hand.

"I'll stay."

Shawn's voice reminded him of two pieces of sandpaper, scratching together as the kid forced the words out with a fake smile. He glanced at his son, the boy had hardly moved. His right hand was still on the handle of the door, as if he was contemplating making the leap at over sixty miles an hour.

"Put your seatbelt on, maybe I'll believe you."

He saw Shawn glance at the speedometer as he continued to pick up speed. Shawn finally released his grip on the handle as he began to buckle himself in. The pained expression on the kid's face concerned him, he was taking Shawn straight back to a hospital. But to Claire's hospital like he had promised her, where they could trust the doctors; or at the very list, hunt them down if they failed.

Shawn's head fell back on the seat, his eyes closing. Henry knew the kid had been through hell, and he didn't even know the whole story. He was torn between trying to figure out what the kid had been through, and letting him rest.

He thought for a moment back to the doctors, the information that had been relayed to him by the doctors. The sensation of Claire's tears running down his neck into his shirt. A shirt that was still damp from the tears. Did his son not realize he'd been in the hospital for a reason?

"What were you thinking Shawn?"

Shawn didn't respond. Instead he turned to look out the window, attempting to hide the marring of his far too pale face.

"Are you a Doctor Shawn?"

Shawn turned his head, actually looking at him.

"Are you?"

"No."

"No?"

"No, Sir."

"Then why do you think you're well enough to leave the hospital?"

Henry stepped on the brakes hard as the car in front of him swerved into his lane. Shawn moaned as he was thrown against the restricting seatbelt. It took a minute for him to work up the energy to speak again.

"Why do you have Mom's car?"

"Don't change the subject on me Shawn!"

Shawn's jaw snapped shut with an audible click. Henry knew that look, it was the "No chance in Hell am I going to talk to you now look." He'd come across it many times in the past.

"Shawn?"

He turned to Shawn, the kid's face was glossed with sweat, as he tried to maintain his stubborn demeanor. He knew Shawn couldn't hold out, the student couldn't overcome the master.

"Shawn, answer me. Why did you leave the hospital?"

He watched out of the corner of his eyes as Shawn bit his lip, turning to face his father with a grimace.

"Can we talk about this at home Dad? Please?"

He wanted to yell, let loose on the kid everything he'd been bottling up and waiting to say to Shawn since he'd run away. But the pain reflected in Shawn's eyes stopped him. Turning back to face the road he gripped the steering wheel tight. So he would have to wait, but at least now he knew where his son was.

Claire pulled Henry's truck to a stop in the parking lot of her home hospital. A quick scan of the parking lot confirmed the presence of her car; the boys were here. She climbed out of the car, slamming the door a little harder than she should have. She hated driving a stick.

Pulling up the jacket that hung loose on her shoulders she started towards the door.

"Maybe you didn't THINK!"

The loud voice stopped her in her tracks, she knew that voice, she'd argued with that voice many times in the past. But never before had she heard the voice arguing with someone else.

"Why don't you ever use your head?"

She walked around the large van blocking her from the owner of the voice and stopped mere inches from Henry Spencer.

Shawn was standing a few feet away, his back to a Volkswagon Bug.

"I'm sorry I can't be perfect Dad."

He spit the words out, the venom seeming to hang in the air between them.

"Henry Lee Spencer! Shawn Henry Spencer!"

Both men jumped at the sudden interruption to their argument.

"What on earth are you doing out here? Our son could be dying and you're hanging out in a parking lot?!"

"Mom!"

"Don't you Mom me young man. Get your ass down in a wheel chair right now!"

"Claire, stop babying him. If he's big enough to hitchhike his way up here, he can damn well walk into the hospital."

"I'm not going to!"

"Yes you are."

Claire was surprised at the way that she and Henry had said that with unison.

"What do you think-"

"He didn't think, he acted on impulse as-"

"Forget ever getting out of-"

"-could have died-"

Claire wasn't even sure anymore who she was more angry with as the rapid fire lecture/argument continued.

"We should have left you there!"

"HENRY!"

"He bails on us and expects us to come running at the first sign of danger? I don't think so Claire!"

"Mom…Dad?"

"Well, maybe I'd believe your hard assed exterior a little bit more if you didn't call me and Gus EVERY day to ask if we'd had any news about your precious baby boy?"

"Oh, like I did that Claire!"

"Don't pretend you didn't!"

"Mom-"

"Just because you did a horrible job raising our son-"

"Dad-"

"-and you were always around for him"

"Like YOU were?"

Claire barely heard the gasping breath that preceded the thump of Shawn's body as it slumped back against the Volkswagen before sliding to the ground. She'd killed him! She had allowed her emotions to get in the way of her job as a parent and as a doctor and now she'd killed her son!

"Shawn?"

She darted forward, rushing to his side. With a shove she pushed Henry out of her way as she bent to feel Shawn's pulse.

"Go get help." She barked at Henry. "NOW!"


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

He could hardly breathe! With one final gasping breath he slumped back against the car behind him. The impact pushed what little air he did have in his lungs out. His eyes closed as his body went limp and sank to the ground.

"Shawn?"

He could hear his parents shuffling about before someone stooped beside him, lifting one of his arms. His arm was turned over in the feminine hands as two fingers pressed against his wrist.

"Go get help." His mother shouted as she pushed his body from the slumped position onto his back. "Now!"

Being moved into this new position on his back was worse than being in a heap. He wanted to cry out in pain but his breath remained caught in his throat.

Her hands grabbed each side of his face and forced his head back slightly. His lips were spread apart and he realized what his mother was about to do.

_Shit - NO_!

He felt her lips plant themselves on his just before air was forced into his lungs. The next thing he knew his chest was on fire as she avidly pumped the air back out of his lungs.

He wanted to scream, wanted to cry and roll under the car and away from the pain she was creating. But all he could do was lay there motionless until he finally faded into blissful unconsciousness

Henry ran into the hospital, his shoes sliding on the freshly mopped linoleum floor as he frantically searched for the nearest doctor. He grabbed the first man he came across, spinning the man around to face him as he started shouting.

"I NEED HELP!"

The man stepped back startled, but immediately leapt into action.

"Sir, I need you to calm down, and tell me what the problem is."

"Henry Spencer?"

"Where's Shawn?"

Henry could only slump in relief as two nurses who recognized him surged forward. His voice gone, he could only shake his head yes or no in response to the questions they asked him.

"Is Gus injured?"

No.

"Is Shawn bleeding?"

He shrugged his shoulders. Shawn had been, was he now? He'd hardly gotten a good look at the kid before running off to find them.

"Head injury?"

Yes?

The four dashed between the cars until they came upon Claire performing CPR on Shawn's still form.

As soon as the nurses saw them they pushed passed Henry and dropped to Claire's side.

"He needs to be intubated!" she said between breaths as she pushed on his ribs. "I can't keep this up, it's not helping!"

Henry could only stand in silence as the group worked frantically around his son. For the second time in two days he found himself watching as his dying child was rushed into the hospital, and back to the operating room.

Shawn lay on his bed and stared up at the ceiling. There were eighteen tiles on his ceiling, each tile with an average of two hundred, thirty seven and a half speckles. He knew this because he had been staring at the ceiling for five days. Five, whole, days.

Shawn shifted his gaze sideways; his father was sitting in the chair beside his bed snoring again. He wished the man would just go home, but unfortunately the rules for visiting hours didn't apply to his family.

All he wanted was to be left alone, but even though he had only been speaking to his father when absolutely necessary and had feigned sleep whenever the man was conscious, Henry didn't seem to get it.

His mother got more or less the same treatment.

No matter how much they attempted to coerce him into speaking with them he could not do it. He was unable shake the words they had spoken to each other. The things they had said about each other, about him.

He blinked back a tear as his eyes began to water, how did they come to this? His family was only a family in the legal sense, and even then, not for much longer. He was able to hold the tear at bay until the door was pushed open, forcing him to snap his eyes shut to maintain the allusion of sleep.

He silently berated himself as he felt the tear escape his eyes, _"Stop crying you wuss, it's hard to fake sleep when you're crying."_

Shawn listened as the hesitant footsteps approached his bed, stopping at Henry's side.

"Henry?"

It was his mother. He could tell by the strained tone to her voice as she shook his father awake that this was maybe the fourth time she had spoken with him during his seven days and counting at the hospital. He was glad to have been completely out of it at first, whether due to drugs or the knock on his head he received when he fell, he did not know or care.

To be unconscious during the beginnings of a Henry and Claire long term argument? Sheer bliss.

Based on the way his mother tapped her foot against the floor, Shawn was easily able to estimate that it had been two days since his mother had spoken to his father, let alone seen him.

His father snorted, finally stirring to consciousness at his mother's persistence. He kept his eyes firmly closed, as he heard his father stand, no doubt stretching his sore muscles.

"Claire."

His father's voice had that rigid tone that meant one of three things when talking to Claire. "I'm only being civil to you because I'm in a public place; I lost my voice yelling at a perpetrator or because you're crying.

There used to be a fourth reason, because Shawn was present. It started out as 'Shawn is in the house' but quickly went downhill from there until the alternative disappeared completely. Shawn's reactions were always the same - get out.

"Henry, I'm going to be taking Shawn home with me when I get off work."

"What?"

The chair scraped against the floor as Henry stood up abruptly.

"I'm taking him home, he's well enough to be under supervised home rest."

His mother's heels clacked across the floor to his left.

"Why does it have to be you?"

"Oh please Henry. Shawn would never go with you-"

He could hear the steady change in his parent's voices as their "conversation" began its steady climb to argument. He heard his father inhale, ready to begin yelling when the door opened once again.

The nurse paused in the door as if inspecting the sight. His mother must have shooed the nurse out as the door was closed again quickly without any movement to his side or changes to his medication. Even with his eyes closed Shawn could see the death glares his parents were sending each other.

"You know he's not really sleeping, right?"

Shawn cracked an eye open just in time to watch his father disappear from the room, the door falling shut with a thud. His mother still stood at the foot of his bead, her mouth gaping open as she realized he really was awake.

"Shawn."

She moved forward, filling Henry's recently vacated chair and grasping his hand. Brushing a strand of her dark hair behind one ear she leaned forward.

"How are you feeling?"


	19. Chapter 19

Epilogue

Shawn sat on the floor as he counted the money he had just received from his last paycheck; the cruise line had owed him quite a bit of back payment. In addition to severance pay Martin had decided to include a nice bonus in an effort to buy Shawn off.

The man was afraid Shawn would sue him for the rather unorthodox way he had been fired. It had been tempting, but he had preferred to have the immediate cash instead. Had time allowed, he would have filed the complaint and waited for the rather lengthy court process to go through.

As it was the money and his bike could not have arrived sooner. He had been living with his mom for only a week and already he thought he was going to go crazy.

He had a couple of thousand dollars cashed from the checks that Martin had written him. It would be enough to get him an apartment, somewhere that would prevent his mother from checking in on him every twenty minutes to make sure he was feeling okay.

Most of his bruises had started to fade by this point and his chest only hurt anymore when he tried to sleep on his stomach. He scratched at the edge of his cast, frustrated at the constant itchy spot that was just out of his reach inside. The stupid thing could not come off soon enough.

His mother knocked on the door, most likely back for the usual check up. Shoving the money into his duffel bag he kicked it under the bed before quickly throwing himself down under the covers.

"Shawn?"

His mother tiptoed into the room to his bed, hesitantly planting herself on the edge of it.

"How are you feeling hun?"

He turned away from the hand that reached out to stroke his hair.

"I'm kinda tired mom."

She pulled her hand back and he could see the hurt that flashed across her eyes. Slowly she pulled the sheets up around his shoulders before standing and making for the door.

"Alright hun, let me know if you want anything."

He lay still until he heard her start making dinner for herself in the kitchen. She would likely stay in the kitchen for an hour or two before checking in on him again.

He slunk from his bed, pulling his duffel back out and dumping the last of the things he wanted inside.

It took him a few minutes to get the screen out, but finally he was standing on the fire escape three stories up the side of his mother's apartment building.

He slung the duffel over his shoulder, glad the pain it caused his chest was greatly reduced compared to the week prior.

Although he didn't know where he was going to go, or where he planned on living, anything was better than staying with on of his parents at this point. Quietly, he stuck the screen back in the window before climbing down to the ground.

-`-`-`-`-`

AN: Thanks everyone for sticking around and following this. The next one in the series is currently called "How I met my roommate" But no clear time on when that will go live. For my most up to date fics check out psychfic(DOT)com

Thanks for reading/reviewing!


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